“Lost too much blood.” Her lids lowered. “Vamp. Will survive. Janvier will have heard from stree . . .”
The world went silent, Archer out of bullets. For a searing instant of relief, she thought this was it: Archer’s end and the end of the prophecy. But she should’ve remembered he was a Slayer.
Throwing aside the gun, he used his other hand to release a spin of razor-sharp blade stars even as the Legion fighter’s sword whistled down toward Archer’s neck. Two blade stars stuck in the Legion fighter’s eyes, blinding him.
Ocular fluid ran down his cheeks.
Archer had his sword out and had beheaded the fighter before Elena could throw her own blade stars. Her vision had become blurry at the edges at the critical instinct, refused to clear. But she stood facing Archer, not willing to let him escape.
“No spare gun?” she said, her chest heaving. All she had to do was keep him talking. The two Legion fighters who’d gone down first would soon appear. “Oversight, huh?”
Avoiding the knives she’d launched his way under the cover of conversation, Archer pulled out the sword he wore in a scabbard down the side of his pants. His brown hair was disordered, his upper body clad in a thick but ragged sweater he must’ve grabbed during his escape—maybe from that raving homeless man—and from his dark pants wafted the scent of sugared doughnuts and cold air.
Old blood invisible against the black.
His eyes were hyper-focused. “You’re one of them now, Ellie,” he said, dead calm. “You think immortal life gives you the right to treat mortals like disposable dolls.”
“Not sure if you’ve noticed, Archer,” Elena said, “but I’m not exactly immortal.” Her wings were dragging weights at her back, and she could see streaks of blood on the sharp edges of the doorway into the restaurant.
“You’ll heal.” No anger in his tone, just that same inexorable calm as he moved his sword in a stance of readiness.
Elena brought up her own sword. She was better with a crossbow than a sword, but she was no novice swordswoman. The real problem was that Archer’s sword was much heavier. Hers wouldn’t last long against his, but it didn’t need to last long. Elena wasn’t here for a swordfight. She was here to end this however she could.
“It’s over,” she said to the seasoned hunter in front of her. “You know it’s over. There’s no way you can hide now.”
“I’m not hiding,” he said, his voice cold. “I’m hunting.” He swung out with the sword.
Elena danced back . . . and almost tripped on a limp wing. Managing to catch herself at the last moment, she held her feet while blocking his blow. Careful, Ellie, she reminded herself as Archer moved back. Use your knives and Ash’s stars.
She threw the first star . . . and a sudden wind ripped it off course. Skin cold, she realized it would be a sword fight.
Her opponent had the advantage of not just the tight space but a slightly longer reach. Elena threw knives and two of the remaining stars without warning. The wind interrupted again—but one knife got through.
Hissing at the pain, Archer ripped out the blade she’d embedded in his bicep and threw it aside, but he kept his distance from her. His eyes flicked to the Dumpster that hid Ashwini’s body. “She’s one of them, too,” he said. “Vampire sympathizers don’t deserve mercy.”
“I’m not going to argue that Eric Acosta, Simon Blakely, Nishant Kumar, and Terence Lee didn’t deserve their punishment.”
Archer’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you standing in my way?”
“Because you’re punishing people who did nothing wrong. Harrison didn’t set Samaria up. He didn’t bring her to the Quarter, didn’t abuse her. As the pawn shop owners didn’t steal her jewelry—she chose to pawn it for money.”
Color flushed his cheeks, rage glittering in his eyes. “She would’ve never been in that position if it wasn’t for the blood-sucking monsters who prey on girls like her. Monsters and their cattle who lead others to slaughter.”
Elena realized with shock that he was talking about Jenessa, whose only crime had been in clinging to Samaria/Lucy as a friend. “Your rules are changing.” Elena was having trouble moving, numbness at her toes and at the very tips of her hands. “You’re going after people who never laid a finger on your daughter.”
Archer lowered himself into a fighting stance. “I guess your brother-in-law sleeps well at night because he doesn’t think feeding the monsters equals being a monster himself. My girl, my sweet Samaria would still be alive and breathing instead of rotting in the ground if he’d driven her home that night!”
“She was an adult, Archer! Harrison couldn’t drag her away from the bar!”
“You know nothing about her.” Archer began to advance again, flashing out with his sword and moving at lethal speed. Elena should’ve backed off to give herself more room, but she couldn’t do so without exposing Ashwini. Archer’s sword, she knew, would slice through Ash’s neck like a hot knife through butter.
She began throwing knives with one hand, peppering the air with metal, while she used the slender blade of her sword to slam up against his. The vibration rang down her quivering arm, but the weapon held.
A sudden assault she pulled out of nowhere as her heart strained. Archer lost enough ground to give her breathing room and hope that the other two Legion fighters were up and on their way. Elena capitalized on her advantage by spinning a blade star toward him. The wind changed its trajectory enough that the lethal edge just grazed the side of his neck.
Giving a bloodthirsty yell, Archer came at her, sword raised. The wind dropped to dead calm, giving him no resistance. Out of throwing knives and stars, Elena went to evade him, her intent to slide out her legs and trip him . . . but her body failed her. Something snapped in her leg, causing her to stumble clumsily . . . and Archer thrust his sword through her stomach.
She looked down at the razor-sharp metal buried in her abdomen, the point coming out her back, and she thought of her archangel. No. Fuck destiny. But her rebellious thoughts were hazy at the edges, her blood running down to pool in the dirty snow.
Archer drew back his sword.
As she crumpled to her knees in the cold, she saw that the sword was red.
45
ELENA!
Raphael didn’t bother to waste words on the man whose sword dripped with Elena’s blood. A single surge of power and that man was ash. Raphael cared nothing for who he was or his motivation in harming Elena. He cared only for the hunter with hair of near-white who knelt in the bloody snow, her hands clamped over the gushing wound in her stomach and her eyes watching him land.
A soft smile on her face when he reached her. “You are magnificent in flight.” It was a whisper almost without sound. “Ash . . .”
“Help comes.” He’d alerted Janvier and every other vampire and angel he trusted in the vicinity when the ghostly owls had appeared around him, warning him to go to Elena.
But no one had found his heart, his Elena, in time.
The owls had led him here on white wings while Raphael pushed his immortal body to the limit, his wings of white fire repudiating his attempts at preternatural speed. He was sweat-soaked, his heartbeat a roar, but the owls were unchanged. They sat silent and solemn around Elena’s mortally wounded body.